The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
Both girls were engrossed in the classic animated movie, but Marisol’s thoughts found themselves wandering back to the young woman at her side. Directly at her side, nestled next to Marisol, laying her head on the dancer’s shoulder. Unsure of how to handle the closeness, Marisol followed her instincts and wrapped her arm around Celeste’s back to keep the snuggler close.
Celeste’s body was warm. For some reason, Marisol was hyper-aware of that heat being shared with her. It was nice, but all that heat was being repurposed in Marisol’s cheeks for some reason.
As much as she should have been watching the scene itself, as “Go the Distance” began, Marisol peeked out of the corner of her eye at the girl beside her. Listening to Celeste sing was… well, it was everything. Marisol loved music and thought, at its best, it was the truest way to hear someone’s heart. Celeste’s voice was beautiful, but it was also sincere. Hearing the blonde sing, Marisol was convinced she knew her best friend better than she could have claimed to before.
What scared Marisol was not the sudden closeness she felt to Celeste, but the way her heart was suddenly fluttering. When Celeste and the song hit a simultaneous crescendo, Marisol’s breath hitched in her throat. Her heartbeat was quickening, and Marisol had no clue how to explain why because she was certain she had never experienced that before.
Except that was almost true. Suddenly, Marisol could recall a moment with Jenna she dismissed because it made no sense. The two girls were helping each other by running lines, and Marisol worked with Jenna to nail one of the key romantic scenes from her show. There was a line, and Marisol no longer remembered it exactly, but she remembered how she felt. Butterflies flooded her stomach and her heartbeat quickened. It was a one-time thing, so Marisol ruled it out as an anomaly—the show just hit her in an unexpected way.
Hercules was not to blame. It was a great movie, but it never hit Marisol with a serious emotional impact until it was Celeste singing. The song came to an end, but that feeling in her chest was still there. ”Heh, I know, right? Zeus, the deadbeat dad that left his demigod kid at the convenience store,” she joked nervously, still wondering what the hell was wrong with her.
They watched through the movie as Herc started training with Phil, met the sassy, independent Megara, and started his career as a hero. It was still a great night. A perfect night maybe, with the laughing and joking and singing. Oh, the singing. Singing with Celeste was just as satisfying as listening to her. At one point, Marisol let a contented sigh slip from her lips. Was she swooning? Was the feeling she was dealing with swooning? That made no sense; she did not swoon. Marisol Cervantes was not a swooner.
Those concerns would have to take a backseat as they came to Marisol’s favorite song. She took a deep breath and went all in, singing her heart out.
” If there's a prize for rotten judgement, I guess I've already won that. No man is worth the aggravation. That's ancient history, been there, done that!”
Marisol sang her way through Megara’s big song, flaunting and tossing her hair dramatically as she danced in her seat, shaking her head with the music as she argued with the muses in song. ”No chance no way I won't say it, no no! This scene won't play, I won't say I'm in love! You're way off base, I won't say it! Get off my case, I won't say it!”
The song wound down with a soft, dreamy last line, ”At least out loud, I won't say I'm in love.”
And as she drew out the last note, she wondered: could she be?
Knowing they had more movie nights in the future was enough to make Marisol excited for the future. It was a little thing, but it meant the girls had a ritual they could share with each other, and that felt special. Neither girl had a lot of friends to her name, so they were filling a large gap in each other’s social lives. Not only did they click together, they also had a shared great taste in Disney movies; truly, theirs was a predestined connection.
Hercules had everything; a great story, relatable characters, and of course, amazing songs. With no class the next day, her neighbors had no reason to complain over some impassioned singing. They lived at a school for the arts anyway, so it was not as though spontaneous singing was rare in the dorms. Singing was such an important part of Marisol’s life and she was excited to share that with her best friend.
The movie kicked off with the invoking of the muses, which was very “Greek Theatre” with a more modern Disney spin. Marisol was ready to be absorbed in the movie, but unexpected contact caught her attention first. Celeste had gotten close enough to nestle her head on Marisol’s shoulder and, much to Marisol’s surprise, the move caught her breath for a moment.
That was an odd reaction. This was nothing strange; they were close and getting cozy, which was natural. It was nice, even. Marisol did not have a lot of experience getting close to people physically, off stage, at least. The proximity simply caught her by surprise, was all. No reason to get weird. With a nervous chuckle, she decided to return her focus to the muses’ story. ”Man, I love this movie, but this is waaay off. The titans are all evil, and Zeus is the best guy ever who totally didn’t cheat on his wife. Hercules is the story if Zeus had a great PR guy.”
The story returned to Earth with Hercules as a young boy feeling out of place in the world. Marisol felt a connection to Herc and she would guess Celeste felt the same. It was relatable; someone who did not fit in, longing for a place where they belonged, with a song about to begin to voice that feeling. Marisol was ready to start singing, but she held back out of curiosity to see if Celeste would sing first.
As far as friendship badges of honor went, surviving a first bad movie night was a big deal for Marisol. Celeste was still getting the hand of watching a terrible movie and appreciating the nuances and the unintentional humor, but she was still a fun person to enjoy the experience with. They would have another night and she would begin to see the value of laughing at terrible actors and plots and special effects. Sci-fi! Next time, she would pick a garbage sci-fi movie, which had to be the only genre to rival awful horror movies, which Aviarypocalypse tried to be. At least, she assumed as much.
The empty wrappers and remaining tacos were set off to the side so the girls could have a clear bed for the rest of their movie night. After binging on tasty low-quality food, Marisol and Celeste were both reaching their limits. Celeste tried to act like she was learning the error of her ways, but Marisol doubted her ability to commit to a healthy movie night. ”Oh, don’t lie. You’re probably right; nights like these call for unhealthy snacks.”
Marisol would have to plan her cheat days to accommodate for the occasional movie night with her best friend. Just because she ate healthily did not mean Marisol could not appreciate the occasional dive into junk food. Remembering her first day in New York, she could even see an alternative to Bails of Tacos. ”Next time, maybe we go with a pizza? A nice, greasy pizza,” she decided with a chuckle, feeling her stomach object to the idea.
While Celeste scrolled through movies, Marisol reached behind her bed to turn off the twinkle lights around the room. ”Now that we’re done eating, we can put the room into real movie theater mode.” Suddenly, the two girls were sitting next to each other in Marisol’s bed, illuminated by nothing but the television.
Hercules was the decision, and Marisol was totally in favor of Amour’s taste. ”Oh, definitely! I love Hercules. Great songs and Megara is such a great character. Let’s do this!”
Getting comfortable, Marisol grabbed one of her larger fuzzy blankets and draped it across herself and Celeste. The movie started up and she could already feel the buzz of excitement in her chest. ”Fair warning, singing is encouraged, if not expected, because you know I will be.” Disney was the benchmark for feel-good movie musicals, and in a small way, Marisol wondered if they were the start of her own path into theatre.
It was important to focus on her own lines, but Marisol could not help but be curious about Siobhan’s portrayal of Heather McNamara. As a fan of the show, Marisol often considered the roles she might be suited for, and if she was cast as one of the Heathers, she always expected she would fit the McNamara role. Now that she was cast as the Queen Mean Girl, it would be interesting to see what Siobhan did to make the role her own and how different that would be from Marisol’s McNamara.
First impressions: her Heather was self-assured, but clearly sincere. McNamara was the most genuine Heather, and it was important to set that up right away in contrast to Chandler’s snarky bossiness. Duke was down on herself and in need of validation, and in a handful of lines, Marisol could see all three actresses establishing the bases of their characters. Duke goes mad with power, McNamara gets redeemed, and Chandler’s hubris leaves her as a snarky corpse.
Mrs. Fleming, a girl with a blonde pixie cut, intruded into the scene, leading to Marisol’s return to the conversation.
”Heather wasn't feeling well. We're helping her,” Marisol answered, justifying herself against the teacher’s accusation.
“Not without a hall pass, you're not. Week's detention”
“Um, actually, Ms. Fleming, all four of us are out on a hall pass,” Veronica interjected. From what Marisol understood, the black-haired girl was an accomplished senior, so it was no surprise to hear her line read go flawlessly. “Yearbook committee.”
“...I see you're all listed. Hurry up and get where you're going.”
Body language was unnecessary in a line reading, but Marisol still looked pensively, like she was evaluating something. She wanted to represent the pleasant surprise of finding something of value where it was not expected. ”This is an excellent forgery. Who are you?”
“Uh... Veronica Sawyer. I crave a boon”
”What boon?” Her voice was laced with skepticism and judgment. Heather Chandler did not strike Marisol as the type of woman to do favors for people.
“Um. Let me sit at your table, at lunch. Just once. No talking necessary. If people think that you guys tolerate me, then they'll leave me alone...”
Marisol burst out into laughter alongside her fellow actresses, like Veronica was proposing something outrageous. From the corner of her eye, Marisol noticed the director jotting down a note, but she tried to push the action from her mind. She had a scene to focus on and notes could matter later.
“Before you answer, I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes”
“How about prescriptions?” piped the redheaded Duke.
”Shut up, Heather!” Marisol spat, dismissing Duke’s question and really, her right to contribute to a decision.
“Sorry, Heather!”
Marisol resisted the urge to pantomime the grabbing of Veronica’s face before she admitted a realization. ”For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure…” Now that she was in the Mythic B*tch role, Marisol realized how much Heather Chandler dominated early conversations in the show; it easily made up for the lessening of her role in the second act when McNamara was the undeniable Heather of note, in Marisol’s opinion.
Introductions were hard, particularly when it was an introduction to a total stranger. Marisol did not know how people initiated conversation with someone new for no reason. It sounded so presumptuous to just go up to someone and say, “Hi, I’m Marisol.” Why would they care? It was just as hard to find some excuse to engage someone, as she just attempted with Siobhan. Instead of saying something about the musical, (which in hindsight would have made a world of sense,) Marisol jumped the gun by pointing out that she knew the girl’s name.
The director took the stage, but Siobhan managed a weak response, correcting Marisol for her failed pronunciation of the girl’s name. Marisol’s cheeks warmed up and she turned her attention back to the director. She should not have assumed she knew how Siobhan was pronounced. When she saw it on the cast list for the first time, she should have looked it up online. It was frustrating how easy things were to avoid in hindsight. She tried, she failed, and she could give up. It was rehearsal time, which meant no more small talk. Marisol loved rehearsal.
The bathroom scene was a perfect way to set things up for the rest of the musical, in Marisol’s opinion. The Heathers’ dynamic was established with their first interactions, and everything else set the stage for Veronica’s time as an honorary Heather. It was a great place to start the first of many rehearsals.
With Siobhan’s name finally confirmed, it was no surprise to see the girl stand along with her. Siobhan was going to be her McNamara, a girl with curly red hair joined them as Heather Duke, and a girl with short black hair and freckles would be the lady of the hour, Veronica Sawyer. The director assured them that staging would be established later; he wanted his main group of girls to work on developing their characters and chemistry.
Developing better chemistry with her fellow actresses, particularly Siobhan, would be helpful in the long run, but until she could figure out a way to do that, she would settle for develop synergy in character. She was a professional, after all. (Okay, she was an amateur, but she carried herself like a professional.)
With some quick guidance from the director to set the scene, Marisol waited for the telltale retch from Heather Duke to start the scene. It was always a challenge to be in a show she knew so well, because she had to fight the instinct to mimic the original actress, which she thought resulted in a cheap, knock-off performance. She had to figure out what Marisol-Heather would be like.
”Ugh, grow up, Heather. Bulimia is so eighty-seven,” she replied condescendingly, setting the scene for Siobhan to join in.
After a small trip to a more serious conversation, it felt like the girls were resuming the fun, silly evening they had planned from the start. It was nice to have a friend who she could go from relaxed to serious and back to relaxed without anything feeling like it changed. Whether they were joking about the movie or supporting each other through personal challenges, their friendship just worked.
They got through the gas station convenience store and even the most unconvincing gas robbery at gunpoint in cinema. It was not until the creekman that Celeste finally gave in and started questioning the point of the movie. It was sweet that she was expecting a point or coherent narrative. ”You haven’t figured it out? The point is global warming. And bird acid. And maybe that you can technically make a movie without hiring a casting director.” If she could ever find the audition tapes of the main actor floating around the internet, it would be fascinating to see what convinced someone he was not the worst thing ever.
With a whole lot of nothing happening for a few minutes, Marisol had the chance to look at the small pile of remaining tacos contemplatively. They were not the most delicious thing she had ever eaten, but they were surprisingly addictive. As much as her taste buds wanted to keep eating, her stomach strongly protested. ”Ugh, how did you think we could handle all these tacos? I’m already feeling full, and I’m totally gonna regret this in the morning,” she whined, before grinning and adding, ”The tacos, not all this.” She could not see herself regretting a movie night with her best friend.
With a climax to really live up to the quality set forth by the movie as a whole, the Aviarypocalypse came to an end when the birds just… flew away toward the ocean. ”Aaaand that was Aviarypocalypse. I know; you’re probably adding it to your ‘favorite films of all-time’ list. If art is suffering, that was definitely art.” The only problem there was it was supposed to be the artist suffering, not the audience.
Their movie was finished, but it was still early for a night where she had no classes in the morning. Marisol was having a genuinely good night, and she was not in a rush for it to end, so she grabbed the remote. ”So because you endured that with me, I feel like we should watch something actually good to cleanse our palates. Here.” She handed the remote off to Celeste after setting the screen to a collection of Disney movies. ”Pick one, so I have an excuse to keep my bestie around longer.”
Marisol never set out to be rude to other people. To the contrary, since she was still so new to New York City, the Californian had been making a more concerted effort to be socially welcoming. The problem was her desire to be friendly directly contrasting her natural instinct to shy away from people.
The poor girl next to her caught her at the wrong moment, but Marisol was too oblivious to realize how embarrassed the girl felt after the response she received. She was asian and she was objectively pretty, which was the only kind of pretty Marisol was good at picking out. Even after a few weeks of classes spent familiarizing herself with some of the other theatre kids, Marisol did not recognize the girl beside her. Putting together the puzzle pieces of the mystery student name and the new girl’s ethnicity, Marisol wondered if she had accidentally stumbled upon her Heather McNamara.
Potentially-Siobhan claimed she did not say anything, which did not sit well with Marisol, who was sure she heard something from the other girl. ”I mean, I’m pretty sure you said something,” she replied, matter-of-factly. Marisol was too in her head to catch what the girl said, but she knew she said something and the denial of that made her curious.
The perplexing situation only got worse when Marisol saw some kind of panic flashing in the girl’s eyes. She wondered what the girl’s damage was until, for a moment, the Heather Chandler in her mind subsided for Marisol to actually come up for air. The girl looked panicked and it was a look Marisol was familiar with; it was the same look she wore when a social situation became to overwhelming.
Maybe Marisol could be a better presence for the newcomer. Their situations were probably not very different and she had made the commitment to be more social, after all. ”Silly question, but would you happen to be Siobhan?”
The moment Marisol finished asking the question, Mr. Bigelow, the director, appeared on stage to start rehearsal before she could receive an answer. As much as she wanted to be friendly, Marisol could not afford to ignore the director, so she turned her focus to the enthusiastic, middle-aged, curly-haired man.
“Can I have Veronica, my Mrs. Flemming, and of course, my Heathers ready to run through the bathroom scene from ‘Beautiful,’ please?”
Marisol got to her feet so she could approach the center of the group, checking out of the corner of her eye to see if her suspicions of the girl next to her were right.
It was a new experience looking through the book for Heathers and focusing on the role of Heather Chandler. She always saw herself as a Veronica or a McNamara. Marisol had experience under her belt, but she was still a newcomer, so she knew it might be a stretch to expect the lead role in her first show. She expected to jump into the role of the sweetest, most timid Heather, but as it turned out, some new girl was brought in from another school to join the cast. Marisol was interested to meet “Siobhan Song,” the girl whose audition made her a rare non-student cast member.
Everything Marisol understood about Heather Chandler led her to believe her delivery should be sharp and decisive. Intentionally being rude and arrogant was new because if she was ever either, it was unintentional. Heather was not a very complex character in terms of growth: she was a b*tch, she dies, and she is an equally b*tchy ghost. If Marisol could unlock the key to her character, she would be set for the entire show.
And so, she was in her head, silently running lines to figure out what she needed to be. How much sass? Was there disdain for her peers, or was she so self-centered no one else mattered. Maybe, in a roundabout way, Heather Chandler was actually relatable. The west coaster certainly did not go out of her way to connect with her peers, and she worked best when she was focused on herself.
Marisol was so preoccupied, the voice of the girl behind her caught her by surprise. ”Eep!” Marisol turned to look at the quiet-voiced girl. ”I’m sorry, did you say something?” Marisol did not intend for her question to sound so blunt, but the tone of Heather Chandler in her head seeped into her voice before she could catch herself.
Marisol felt entirely out of her element. Well, maybe not entirely. She was in an auditorium sitting on a stage preparing for the first rehearsal of a show. Those things were all distinctly her element. If she felt out of place, it was because, despite being a junior, Marisol was still a newcomer to Fiorello H. Laguardia High School. Many of the people on the stage had experience working with one another in productions over the years. There was a familiarity in the group that Marisol felt firmly on the edge of; she was the observer of the group dynamic.
Some of her nervousness also came with the role she managed to earn. When audition time came around, Marisol took a shot at Veronica Sawyer, feeling the role would fit right in her wheelhouse. She had to hide her surprise when the director asked her after her first read to try reading Heather Chandler. Hiding her surprise was impossible when the cast list went up and her name was right there next to the red-scrunchie-wearing mythic b**** of Westerburg High.
It was a role that was very out of character for Marisol, in her humble opinion. She could come across as cold, but was she really mean girl material? Still, it was a major role and it would be an exciting challenge for Marisol to broaden her range and her depth as an actress. The selection of the show was already inspiring some controversy from nosy morality police in the city, which meant plenty of outrage publicity, and as Heather Chandler, Marisol would be one of the targets of the controversy. In a strange way, it was a thrilling affirmation of her identity as an actress, pushing the envelope on stage.
Marisol had her nerves, but they were not apparent because she had her nose buried in the script. She was very familiar with the musical, but she wanted to really pour over the stage directions and lines for her character, Veronica, and the other Heathers. It was a first rehearsal, so she doubted things would get intensive, but she dressed for comfort anyway. Marisol wore black leggings a black tanktop with a long, off-the-shoulder sweater dress to conceal the fact that her leggings were not opaque. Marisol doubted there would be much choreography to work on, but wore comfortable ballet flats just in case. She almost considered buying a red scrunchie of her own, but decided not to out herself as a total nerd immediately. She did tie her hair back into a ponytail with one of her pink ribbons.
Thumbing through some pages of Heather-heavy dialogue, she muttered aloud, ”Man, I’m not sure if I’ve ever come close to being this mean.” Heather Chandler was a good litmus test to decide if she was socially-awkward or intentionally vicious.
Reagan was… a lot. Marisol got the impression that she might be high energy from the messages they traded, but you could only read someone so much through text. In person, she seemed to pop with each step and words left her mouth in bursts. High energy was an apt assessment, but Marisol supposed an overwhelmingly positive roommate would be a better start than a gloomy storm cloud. Marisol would have to learn to deal with live with the kind of person Reagan was. If her impression was right, Reagan was likely to be a talker, so Marisol could take a more passive role in conversations.
At least she was going to be part of the decorating process for the room! Had she not been invited to do so, Marisol likely would have let Reagan decorate the entire space to avoid any roommate conflict.
The greeting Reagan gave to Jorge was just as chipper as her own, and Marisol appreciated her uncle’s kind disposition toward the girl she would be living with for the next year. He asked if Marisol would be fine, and she gave it a moment’s thought. Finally, she could answer him genuinely. ”I think I’m going to be alright, Tío,” she answered with a smile. She walked back over to him and gave him one last tight hug and a kiss on his cheek, ignoring the scratchy scruff. ”Thank you for coming. I’ll see you and Gemma and Chase soon.”
Marisol waited for Jorge to bid his farewell and returned her attention to Reagan, who was grinning for some reason. ”What?” Did she do something wrong? Was kissing her uncle’s cheek childish? Should she be embarrassed?
“Your uncle is a total silver fox.”
”Ugh! Don’t we have some decorating to focus on?” she asked, smirking. She really was going to be alright.
It was a nice change of pace for Marisol to have someone really know her. Opening up was not something Marisol was familiar with; she would rather hide behind a character so the actual Marisol could fade into the background. Celeste made it less necessary to be so guarded. They both had their struggles but, instead of keeping everything buried, they shared them. Life seemed less daunting with such a reliable teammate in her corner; she only wished she met Celeste sooner.
Wiping away sour cream from the corner of her mouth, Marisol laughed at the extent of Celeste’s support. ”Well, I’ll make sure to keep all future murders as noble as possible.” The idea of Marisol hurting anyone other than in self-defense was laughable. She took self-defense classes, but she was a dancer, not a fighter, and ballet was not capoeira.
The faces Celeste made in the face of the bird attack made the whole movie night worth it. It shot the pacing and direction of the movie in the face, suddenly interjecting the least believable bird attack into what had been a slice of life film up to that point.
”I have to imagine they passed by kitchen knives, baseball bats, and sandals on their way to deciding hangers were the best choice. Great survival instincts.” It was easy to be smug toward characters in an illogical movie, but seriously, who thought wire hangers would do anything against vicious birds of prey? ”Really though, I wonder how weird it was just waving hangers at nothing.” Green screen acting was incredibly interesting, but Marisol wondered if she could keep a straight face.
Celeste was trying to wrap her mind around an expository scientist trying to explain the movie, but the bird acid seemed to officially break her. ”They clearly scienced the hardest to come up with this plot.”
After a quick sip of her water, Marisol reclined against the wall, getting comfortable enough for a yawn to escape her lips. The scene had moved to a gas station convenience store with a thick-accented man behind the counter blaming the downed phone lines and the gas prices on “the eagle attack.” Marisol shook her head at the delivery. ”I’m still not convinced this guy is an actor and not just the man who actually worked in that store.”
Struggling with social situations had always been a problem for Marisol, but it was one she knew was not uncommon. Plenty of people in the world only knew the wrong thing to say and froze up around strangers. On the internet, avoiding socialization and having disdain for most people even appeared to be trendy. It was exhausting feeling awkward and at a loss all the time, but that rarely made Marisol feel “weird.”
It was Marisol’s inability to feel attracted to others that made her feel weird. Society was so sexualized and it was the norm to find someone you were drawn to, pair up, and start a family. It was like everyone was viewing the world the right way, but Marisol could not see half the colors everyone else saw. Marisol looked her questions up online once and believed she was asexual. There were people like her, but there were also many people who said asexuality “didn’t exist,” and that people claiming to be such were just “broken.”
Getting reassurance from Celeste that she was not weird or broken flooded Marisol with a sense of relief. There was support online, but Marisol was not excited about the idea of talking to strangers to make herself feel better. She needed someone she trusted, and she trusted Celeste beyond a shadow of a doubt. Marisol had unconditional support from a friend who appreciated her for who she was; her eyes glistened as she felt how lucky she was to have picked a little New York diner for her part-time job.
”Thanks, Celeste. I haven’t really told anyone that before,” she admitted, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. ”Maybe I should be looking at the silver lining that I don’t have to worry about wooden sex with… that footsie thing they’ve got going on there.” It was easier to feel normal when she knew someone did not see her as a freak.
Though speaking of freaking, Marisol knew they were about to really hit the high point of the movie. She grabbed one of the many hard-shell tacos and took a crunchy bite, appreciating the cacophony of meat, sour cream, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes as she kept her eyes on the screen.
And so, they watched as a legion of CGI birds filled the sky, dive bombing the city with inappropriate sound effects and explosions. ”Glorious,” she muttered through her half-eaten taco. Truly, they were watching a masterpiece.
Maybe Marisol could get a one-on-one instructor! Theatre apprenticeships needed to come back in style. She could handle interacting with one adult actress. How she would get a world-class actress to take her on as a student, Marisol still was not sure, but she could figure that out later. The key was getting away from a social situation where she was going to be the outsider trying to find her place amongst her already established peers.
Marisol was getting ready to spiral when a strong arm wrapped around her shoulder. Jorge planted a kiss atop her head, and it was like a soft reset. For a few seconds, her racing thoughts came to a halt. It was the support she needed in the moment to stop her from snowballing.
It was a big risk to leave California and seek to make her name in New York. It was the kind of chance she never saw coming, but maybe the unknown was the most important part. Marisol’s inability to interact with her peers socially (and more) had always been a concern for her. A new life with new people in a new place could end up being the thing she needed to grow as an actress and a person.
Marisol was not alone and she was not lost. Jorge would be there for her when things got tough. She was in a new school, but she was there to be on a stage—the one place where she was never lost.
With her minor freak-out stifled, Marisol could focus on her uncle ruffling her hair. Her nose scrunched and she wriggled away, chuckling and fixing her hair. ”Hey, I’m meeting new people. Let my hair make a good first impression!” Something had to, right?
After getting her key and signing waivers at the front desk, Marisol led her uncle to her assigned dorm room. She checked the handle and found the room unlocked. Pushing the door open, Marisol looked at a room with two beds, two desks, two dressers, and two closets. Posters were not yet on the walls, but a fridge, microwave, and television were already set up.
Sitting on one of the beds was a thin blonde girl who was already smiling at her roommate. “Oh good, you’re here!”
Reagan got to her feet and extended a hand once she was close enough to Marisol. The newcomer timidly accepted the hand, waiting to see if Reagan had anything to say about her aura. Instead of commenting on Marisol’s adapted presence, the blonde dancer had bigger priorities. “So, I’ve been waiting to plan decorations until you got here. It’s your room, too, but I have ideas! Excited?”
”Yes?” Marisol was energetic and confused, trying to match Regan’s energy. ”I mean, yes! Sure!” There! She was putting in an effort.
“Awesomesauce!” With her plan in motion, Regan finally acknowledged that they were not alone. “Hello, sir! I’m Reagan Bush. Marisol’s your… niece, right?”
Celeste was still trying to decide on her career path, but her tone clearly cast Marketing out of the running. Marisol could not see her in such a corporate world anyway. She did not doubt Celeste could be successful, but she did not think she would be happy. When she found something that made sense for her, Marisol was sure it would click and she would take to it like she was meant for it.
Another field Celeste was not designed for would be entertainment. Modern media was something the Canadian was still growing more familiar with. She knew the Oscars existed, but that sounded like the extent of her knowledge. Finishing off her last “pizza” slice with a crunch, she covered her mouth with her hand. ”We don’t vote for Oscars. Nameless, faceless decision-makers do, and we lowly peasants ooo and ah.” The tastes of the Oscars voters were suspect, which was why Marisol’s dreams focused on the Tonys.
Marisol was not incredibly young, but when it came to sex and relationships, she felt like a child. It was a world she rarely ever thought about, so she did not know if people usually waited to jump into bed or if things moved faster than that. She wished her naivety did not come through so clearly, but just like Celeste did not know media, Marisol had her own foreign concepts.
It took a few seconds for Marisol to mull over an answer to Celeste’s question. She was talking to her best friend. Marisol had to believe she was in a position not to be judged. There was a weak smile when Celeste nudged her, but it was quickly replaced by a more serious expression. ”I guess… I’ve never felt that thing you need to make a relationship work. I am sure that guys are handsome and I can see that girls are pretty. It just… hasn’t done anything for me.” Marisol had her eyes on the screen, but the love scene held no interest for her. Even if it was well-acted with better, more attractive actors, she doubted that would change. ”I don’t think I’m attracted to people. Like, in general.” Admitting that concern out loud felt foreign from her lips. Those thoughts usually lived in her head, alone. Telling Celeste was more evidence that she saw the girl as a close friend.
Celeste was so understanding. Marisol did not understand flirting? It was fine, flirting was not for everyone. Marisol shut down the men who showed interest in her? Who needed men, anyway? It was refreshing to feel normal. It was always Marisol’s concern that something in her was broken, but Celeste was willing to roll with all her little quirks. Maybe that was why she was speaking up more than usual. ”Yeah, I haven’t been all that impressed by them yet,” she joked in reference to men as a gender. Marisol did not dislike men, but just like with women, all had failed to catch her eye.
Marisol relaxed and leaned closer to Celeste, getting comfortable with her friend and her meal. ”Mmm, tasty Americanized crap. You should be in marketing, Celeste.” Then again, did she do a bad job when Marisol was still biting into the crunchy shell?
Birds finally made a cameo, but Marisol held her tongue. The first of the terrible CGI birds would not be the last, nor would they be the most jarring. The main female character visited her mother, and as expected, Celeste loved it. What no one could love, however, was the billion-dollar sale. ”You wanted celebration, right? Enjoy terrible editing and a the most awkward celebrating ever put on film.” Marisol laughed every time she watched one guy grab his friend’s chair and pull it back and forth vigorously.
Fortunately, they were able to return to the mother; the real star of the show. The way she spoke was unlike any actress Marisol had ever seen. ”I’m still not sure she’s acting. The way she talks feels like they just got her talking about her retirement. But she’s so sincere!” It was impossible not to love the mother. It was the universal rule of Aviarypocalypse. ”Though is it normal for people to meet their date’s parents so soon? Seems fast to me.” It was another one of those dating etiquette questions of which Marisol was unaware.
A few minutes and a dance scene later, the main characters were in a bedroom and things transitioned into a love scene that made Marisol cringe. She could not tell if it was because she was her or because everything was so soulless and lacking passion. ”Okay, nevermind. Do people do this so soon?” Her cheeks reddened at the innocence of her question, and she decided she had to justify her naivety with an explanation. ”You might have guessed, but I… haven’t exactly dated before. Like… ever.”
